Porkemon
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Orange nailpolish, pork, and serial killers. Let the good times flow.


Title: Porkemon  
  
Authors: ScullyAsTrinity AKA Barenaked Bostoninan, Bonkers Bostonian, Samantha M., X Knona and Skeptical Scully  
  
Rating: PG-13, for a few bad words....  
  
Spoilers: Does pork have to do with anything in the series......  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Amanda doesn't own 'em, Skept doesn't own 'em, X doesn't own 'em and Sam doesn't own 'em. Do you Sam? Damnit, she does, oh well.  
  
Category: Casefile, H, Angst, a little MSR.  
  
Feedback: Share with me and I'll pass it on.... BNLXPhile12@aol.com  
  
Summary: Some funny stuff having to do with an orange monk, Nail polish, pork and our two very favorite agents. A collaborative fic!  
  
Distribution: Pretty please? Tell us where... just so we can visit!  
  
NOTES FROM BARENAKED BOSTONIAN (Leslie): We just thought of this the other day, and they didn't have time to write it so I volunteered. It makes absolutely no sense, so if you *don't get it*, we don't either! A big *shout out* (whatever the hell THAT means) to Ms. A. You rule dude, thanks for saying that this story scared you. That means a lot...*tear*...  
  
NOTES FROM X KNONA: The color orange is a noble hue indeed, and much neglected at that. Orange nail polish does exist; I know because my toenails are orange. The George Washington Bridge is actually between New York and New Jersey, and it's been smelling a lot like nail polish the last twelve times I've driven over it. I AM JEWISH!  
  
NOTES FROM BONKERS BOSTONIAN (Amanda): I hate peas. Peas suck! Peas suck ROYAL ASS! Peas suck common ass! I like green beans though! But none of this orange pork crap! That's just nasty! Sheep go to heaven, goats go to hell. Orange tainted goats and sheep go in Leslie's boudouir!  
  
NOTES FROM SAMANTHA M.: Hey kargol, we put you in your place as the psychiatrist you shoulda been. No one tells me I have problems and gets away with it. Me and Doug are gonna find your car and key it up so bad you WON'T recognize it. : ) Um, orange pork scares me....  
  
NOTES FROM SKEPTICAL SCULLY: It was my idea for the title, I thought that it was cool.........  
  
THANKS TO ALL IN THE GROUP FOR BETAING AND TO MS. A FOR BETAING!  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
GOTTA EAT 'EM ALL, PORKEMON!  
  
********************************************************************  
  
Samaiah Psychiatric Ward Galayda, Maryland Wednesday, June 8th 4:56 P.M.  
  
"Breach, breach! We have a breach! I repeat, we have a breach!" The man screamed. "What do you mean we have a breach?" The doctor in the white lab coat asked frantically. "Patient...." the man looked at the sheet in his hand, "Number 9485, has escaped."  
  
The doctor gaped open mouthed at him. "But how?" he whispered, dropping the clipboard that was in his left hand. "We don't know, but he left his suit behind. His *orange* suit, sir." "Dear God." the doctor replied. "Get on the phone and call the F.B.I. We need everyone they can get on this. We could be in *big* trouble." "Yes sir." The other man said, and went off to follow his orders.  
  
****************************************************************** George Washington Bridge Downtown Baltimore Wednesday, June 8th 6:34 P.M.  
  
The sirens were closing in on him, he had to move faster, but he was already pushing it to 110. He swerved again and a beep followed him around the next car. In and out, in and out, he maneuvered through the dense traffic, trying to lose the police that were hot in pursuit.  
  
He looked up into the rear view mirror to see where they were, and turned back just in time to swerve out of the way of an enormous tanker truck. The truck swerved as well.  
  
It began to wobble on its back wheels as the driver spun hard into the skid, but it was to late. The truck began to tip as the driver fastened his seat belt. It slowly toppled over, amongst screams and sirens and car horns.  
  
The tank that was up to this point, still intact, created a huge shriek when it ripped open on the guardrail. Metal and sparks and parts of the truck went flying in all directions, and through the dense smoke you could just make out the gallons of orange fluid running over the edge of the bridge and into the river below.  
  
A foul stench permeated the air, as people gagged and held their breath.  
  
It was nail polish.  
  
Orange nail polish to be precise, which was flowing away with the current of the Potomac.  
  
************************************************************  
  
The man looked in the rearview mirror and saw the destruction that he had left in his wake.  
  
The muscles in his cheek twitched.  
  
Oh, he knew what was coming.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
The hogs were drinking the water. The cows were drinking the water. The chickens were drinking the water. And now they were...TAINTED!  
  
***************************************************************** Stevenson Street Midline, Maryland Thursday, August 16th 7:12 P.M.  
  
The man, the man who had escaped, was peeking through random windows. There was no method to this haphazard peepshow, just a glimpse at the life he had missed all of those years in that damn hospital.  
  
He stopped in front of a rose bush and ducked down. His orange monk's robe caught on a thorn and ripped but he was hardly concerned with that.  
  
He was concerned now, with the scene in front of him. A family, who was seated at dinner, talking happily. The little girl played with her peas and spilled a few on the carpet. Gone unnoticed, the family dog came and lapped them up greedily.  
  
The boy was shoveling food into his mouth, and...PORK...they were eating pork. And the television, was it on? Yes, yes it was. Please not...MUST SEE TV! He was losing it, his cheek twitched and his fists clenched. He turned his eyes toward the mother, orange tee-shirt.  
  
Oh, it was beginning.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Noonan Residence 54 Stevenson Street Midline, Maryland Saturday, August 18th 6:23 A.M.  
  
Special Agent Dana Scully looked at the scene before her. She scoffed, how could someone be capable of something...  
  
"Hey Scully." Her partner Special Agent Fox Mulder addressed her. "Come look at this."  
  
He was bent over a plate of food. Staring intently at a piece of meat. He picked up a fork with a glove covered hand and stabbed the meat.  
  
"Dinner?" he asked playfully, as he examined the pork. "Yeah Mulder, but that's a big Jewish no no." Scully said, bringing her head down alongside his to examine the specimen. "How do you know I'm Jewish?" He asked, still staring at the meat.  
  
Scully chose to ignore his last comment, knowing full well that it would lead to a long and uncomfortable theological conversation.  
  
"Hey, what's that?" he pointed to the pork. "What's what?" she asked, staring, but not seeming to see anything. "THAT." He pointed to a piece of fat on the food. "It's orange." She said, somewhat factually, but not knowing what would cause something odd like that. "What would cause something like that?" Mulder asked, putting the pork back down on the plate and removing the latex glove.  
  
"Well, it could be caused by a number of things." Scully stated, straightening up. "Malnutrition, dyes in the water or food supply, even perhaps old age."  
  
Mulder thought intently for a moment. Nothing in the house was disturbing but the...well...the pork. It was piled on top of the bodies faces and strewn around the room for no apparent reason. THAT was what had caught Mulder's attention.  
  
"Why would someone, pay so much attention to the pork, just the pork? And why aren't the pieces on the platter touched?" He asked, thinking out loud.  
  
"Maybe the killer needed to defile the bodies in an uncommon way. Maybe his mother couldn't cook." Scully joked.  
  
Mulder walked over to the table and began examining the meat on the platter.  
  
"Hey Scully. This meat has no traces what-so-ever of any orange substance, dye or otherwise." Mulder stated. "That's strange." Scully said. "If all of the meat was from the same package why would some be tainted and not other pieces?"  
  
"I don't know, but let's find out. Scully, I think we have an escalating fetishist on our hands."  
  
The two agents walked into the kitchen, found the meat's packaging, and headed off to the local processing plant.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
The Agent's Car Midline, Maryland Saturday, August 16th 7:47 A.M.  
  
Scully stared out the window, looking for the turnoff that they were supposed to take. Mulder was busily cracking open sunflower seeds and spitting the empty shells out the open window.  
  
The cool summer air flowed through the car, as Mulder brought up the Jewish thing again.  
  
"How did you know that I was Jewish?" He asked, spitting another shell out he window, then looking at her.  
  
"You told me." She said, looking out the window. "No I didn't." He said, stopping at a red light. "I thought that you did." She said. "Hmmm." "No Scully, I would remember that." "I guess it was just the way you presented yourself about religion and the views you held." "That." Mulder said, "And I am." "That too." Scully said smiling.  
  
"So," Scully said after about ten minutes of silence, "What's your take on the pork?" "I can't eat it." He said. "Yeah I know." "It's not Kosher." "I know." "Pigs are dirty." He said, popping another seed into his mouth. "I KNOW!" Scully said. "How to you know about Judaism?" Mulder asked her, somewhat cynically, but seriously none the less. "Mulder, everyone knows about the Jewish tradition. It's just common to be intrigued by Judaism."  
  
"I know." Mulder said. "But why? Why is being Jewish so special?" "I don't know, maybe you're just cool Mulder." "Ah ha, now I get it. *I* make the religion cool, huh?" "Yes." She said sarcastically. "Yes you do Mulder."  
  
Mulder made a left turn onto the street with the processing plant, it towered above all of the other buildings. The agents pulled up into the parking lot, and stepped out into the damp summer air.  
  
********************************************************************* Petrie Processing Plant Midline, Maryland Saturday, August 16th 8:21 A.M.  
  
Scully's heels clicked behind Mulder as they walked in the building and received their visitor's passes. Mulder's fell to the floor three times due to the grease that was smeared all over them. After much cursing, and the safety pin that Scully provided, he managed to secure it in place.  
  
They took the elevator up to the third floor of the meat packing plant. It smelled of blood and raw meat. Scully held the bile down in her throat. They could feel the grease that hung in the air and stuck to their clothes.  
  
Damn 'Dry Clean Only.'  
  
Scully felt her hair go limp on her shoulders, as they entered the working deck. It was crowded with people wearing hairnets and gloves, packing meat and wrapping it in it's plastic casing. They watched the meat disappear into a machine, and wondered what would happen to it next.  
  
Those thoughts flew out the window when the factory director came out to shake their hands.  
  
Mulder began the rigorous investigating, asking stupid questions that quite frankly had nothing to do with the case.  
  
Scully figured that it was just the psychoanalyzing instinct in him, that he was profiling the man. But that was easy... basic hick, in a basic job with a basic set of buck teeth.  
  
"Sir, can you please tell me where you were on the night of August the 16th?" "Uh, yeah I was at home watching the wrestlin on TV. You can call my wife, she was there with me." "That won't be necessary sir." He replied, and continued to question him.  
  
Scully looked around, not paying attention to the two men, until she finally whipped around and asked the question no one had thought to ask.  
  
"The driver, was he under the influence, or was there another variant involved?"  
  
"Well ma'am, the people that were questioned, they um, they said that they saw a man driving a car. Said he swerved around that there driver. They say that the guy had just escaped a hospital or sumthin'."  
  
Scully gave up half of a fake smile to the man, and glanced at Mulder, prompting him to ask the next question.  
  
"The man who escaped, is that..." Mulder thought for a moment, "Ernesto Quixote?" "Um, yes sir. Yes it was. He escaped 'bout a month ago, and he hasn't been  
  
sighted anywhere. They say that he left for Canada or sumthin'"  
  
"About the pork," Mulder began, but was cut off by the man once more.  
  
"Yeah, um, the nail polish, it got into the stocks' water, and... there was  
  
really no way that we could stop 'em from drinking it. But we put out a recall on al  
  
the meat. Not that it could really harm anyone, but it did taint the livestock. Some  
  
people even said, that after they cooked 'em, they were still orange."  
  
Mulder nodded thoughtfully for a moment and then snapped back to reality. He looked at the man with a smile.  
  
"Thank you sir." He shook the man's hand. "If we have any more questions, will we be able to reach you here?"  
  
Scully walked out to the elevator while Mulder got the man's home and cell phone number. The elevator had just arrived when Mulder jogged up to her, his visitor's ID falling off once more.  
  
"So?" Scully asked, walking quickly into the elevator. "What do you think about this Ernesto guy? Is he the one?" "I don't know Scully, but it's worth checking out."  
  
And the doors shut.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
And Mulder's foot was caught in between the doors. "Ouch! Damnit!" He removed his foot.  
  
And the doors shut.  
  
************************************************************************** Samaiah Psychiatric Hospital Galayda, Maryland Saturday, August 16th 4:35 P.M.  
  
Mulder and Scully had stopped for a quick lunch, which had turned into four  
  
hours because the two agents found themselves stuck in the middle of a food fight. Between members of the local football team to be precise, had begun horsing around. This horsing around escalated into an all out war, by the time Mulder and Scully could run from the diner, their DRY CLEAN ONLY clothes ruined.  
  
On their way to the hospital, Mulder got lost three times, due to Scully's inadequate mapping.  
  
Once there, the pair checked themsleves in at the front desk and were forced to leave their weapons in a bin. Loonies could be pretty loony, the nurse had said, better safe than sorry.  
  
The nurse at the clerking counter paged Dr. Kargol, and the pair sat down to wait. After nearly ten minutes, a tall, beady eyed man ran around the corner and skidded to a halt  
  
in front of them. He stuck out his sweaty hand.  
  
"Hi, sorry I took so long, it's just that this patient, Ranfield, he well... he needed an enema."  
  
Scully grimaced and stood up to shake his hand. He took it, and nearly took her hand off when he shook back.  
  
"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Fox Mulder.  
  
Mulder shook hands with the man, and followed him to his office at his request. The two were seated in front of him as he busied himself looking for the medical file on Ernesto Quixote. Mulder looked around the room at all of the pictures of the doctor in different situations. There was one in which he had his hand in a cow's mouth.  
  
*Strange, strange man.* Mulder thought to himself, and then glanced at Scully.  
  
She gave him a comical look, and then turned her attention back to the folder that had been plopped down on the desk. She gingerly reached for the file that was on top of his  
  
desk. The doctor looked around his ransacked office.  
  
Scully read over the charts and graphs.  
  
"It says here that he had violent reactions to the color orange. Why was that doctor?" "Well, over the years, he showed violent tendencies toward his parents. Cursing, beating..." "Where are his parents now? We'd like to question them." Mulder asked.  
  
"The father died a year after Ernesto was placed here, and the mother passed on two months ago. They were hard country clubbers, he said...well, he said that all they ever  
  
wore was orange. And that was the decor of half of the house. Except for his room which we discovered was pink, the exact color of raw meat." The doctor explained to them, who were nodding and pouring over the file.  
  
"And pork intolerance, that's very rare, if not impossible, doctor." Scully  
  
said, matter-of-factly. "Yes. Yes it is, in fact, there was only two documented cases up to this point, but this was the most extreme case by a mile. He had violent reactions to it, vomiting, sweats and even hives. He said he loved it, but he was forced to give it up. That, with the combined reaction to orange was what got him his ticket here. it was supposed to be a one way ticket...."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Ernesto looked at all of the medications in his father's cabinet. The man had been dead for years, they say he had died of a broken heart when his only son was pronounced suicidal.  
  
He couldn't believe that his father hadn't gotten rid of all of these medications. Not that any of them worked. Not one medicine that the doctor had prescribed for his rare disease worked in the least.  
  
Pork-intolerant. How could anyone be pork intolerant?  
  
It had all happened after his twelfth birthday.  
  
He remembers the bright orange banners, his favorite color. And all of his  
  
friends gathered around the table waiting for his special birthday meal.  
  
His pork, his favorite thing in the world. His nanny would cook it for him  
  
every night when his parents would go out to the country club. His father in his suave orange crushed velvet suit and his mother in her short and skimpy orange cocktail dress.  
  
And his parents had served up his meal, and all of his friends were digging  
  
in.  
  
He had picked up his fork and knives, and cut off a large piece. He put it to his lips. Chewed. Swallowed.  
  
Twenty minutes later he had thrown it up. He had thought then that it had been too much excitement, so he had another helping. That one came up too. Stomach virus, the doctors said that he was perfectly healthy but....  
  
HE WAS PORK INTOLERANT!  
  
That couldn't be. it couldn't! He had looked up from his rejected stupor and was met with orange. His mother's ass to be precise as she talked to the doctor about medication. The harsh color assaulted his eyes, and he spun around only to be slapped with it again. As his father filled out forms.  
  
Orange. Orange. Orangeorangeorangeorangeorangeorange. It must go, it must go along with his pork filled dreams that were now crushed. Orange.  
  
The color brought bile to his throat as he sifted through his father's belongings, looking for the address to the summer cottage in Alaska, he had forgotten it, being cooped up in that hospital.  
  
Sifting through, he came upon a bundle of papers tied together haphazardly with twine. He glanced at it and was greeted with more memories.  
  
"Hi, Mr. Quixote? Yes, this is Mrs. Kelly Noonan, calling on behalf of NBC.  
  
Yes, that's right. I regret to inform you that you did not get the part on 'People Who Live Together But Are Always Moving Out And Gather Daily To Slurp Coffee At A Shop Cleverly Named After A Park In New York.' I'm very sorry Mr. Quixote, have a nice day."  
  
"Hi, Mr. Quixote? Yes, hi...this is Ms. Courtney Black. I am calling on behalf of the executives at NBC. I'm sorry to inform you that you were not chosen to play the part of Jack on 'Grace&Jack&Will.' We will surely inform you of upcoming parts. Have a nice day Mr. Quixote, and thank you for auditioning."  
  
Oh, how his memories haunted him. Damn NBC, and damn orange, and damn the pork that he could never have.  
  
The urge was rising in him...as the clock struck midnight, it turned...Thursday.  
  
**************************************************************************** * Georgetown, Maryland 1419 W. 53 RD Apartment #35 Thursday, September 24th 8:03 P.M.  
  
Two more murders, each committed on a Thursday, but no sign of the killer after that. They had assumed that he had fled to Alaska, to go to his family's summer home, but no trace  
  
was found of him there either.  
  
The cops had been on his trail for the last two months but the killer seemed to elude them every time. The last place that he was spotted had been Oregon, so Mulder and Scully had closed the case down yesterday. Tonight however, the two were seated in front of Scully's television watching "Friends."  
  
Mulder wasn't interested in the movie, he was interested in the way her blue sweater brought out the exact hue in her eyes. And how light and soft her skin was, and her orange painted nails, and how much he knew that he loved her but was scared of the inevitable, of everything falling apart around him. Because she was the only thing that grounded him to reality. He was interested in the way she just belched...belched?  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
She excused herself.  
  
Mulder thought that now was as good a time as any, so he put down his plate  
  
of orange pork and pork fried rice and took Scully's plate that was piled with egg foo yung out of her hands and placed it on the table.  
  
He glanced at her and she looked confused, but he took her hand in his and stroked the back of her palm with his thumb.  
  
"Mulder, what are you..." she trailed off as he placed a finger to her lips. "Scully, I have to tell you, you mean the world to me." He said lovingly. "Thank you Mulder." She said, a little unsure. "I just want to say, I have to say, and I've wanted to say for a long LONG time, that I lo-..."  
  
He trailed off when he heard the scraping outside her window.  
  
"What was that?" she asked, getting off of the couch. "I don't know. I'll go check it out."  
  
Mulder opened the door to her apartment and disappeared down the hall. She  
  
shut off the T.V. to see if she could hear it again. She walked into the kitchen to look out  
  
the window.  
  
When she turned around she was faced with a man in an orange monk's robe and a slab of pork in his left hand. He brought it up above her head and knocked her to the floor. She squirmed out from under him and stood up quickly with the assistance of a chair.  
  
Mulder burst into the room and saw the scene in front of him. He grabbed his gun off of the coffee table and leveled it at Ernesto's head.  
  
"Freeze!" He shouted, but Ernesto took a step closer to Scully, attempting to whack her with the pork once more.  
  
*BANG BANG BANG!*  
  
Ernesto fell to the floor in an orange heap.  
  
Scully looked at him for a moment before calling the police.  
  
**************************************************************************** * Georgetown, Maryland 1419 W. 53 RD Apartment #35 Thursday, September 24th 9:57 P.M.  
  
Mulder and Scully sat down to watch the end of "Charmed" on the WB. Screw NBC!  
  
Then they ordered pizza. Screw Chinese!  
  
And as he bent down to kiss her...  
  
"Mulder you have something in your teeth." She said as she pulled back, waiting for him to extract the food.  
  
He did, and examined it.  
  
"It's pork...."  
  
CUE THE SCARY MUSIC.... Fade..... *END*  
  
So that's the end and I think that I speak for all of my buddies when I say  
  
that this is one F*$#@d up story! 


End file.
